


then i saw you

by GalaxyOwl



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, set during ep. 45, this is literally just a way-in-depth rewrite of a canon scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 03:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14824481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyOwl/pseuds/GalaxyOwl
Summary: Even meets up with an old friend for a quiet dinner together.





	then i saw you

**Author's Note:**

> my fatt rarepair swap gift for @NotA_Bumblebee! this was a very good request, I hope you enjoy
> 
> (also, disclaimer that I have not yet listened to this week's episode?)

Even stands on the steps as the faint buzz of the doorbell sounds from inside Cascabel’s place. The apartment is also the base of operations for Cascabel Arms, nestled tightly between the surroundings buildings.

Even runs his free hand through his hair. Waits.

He’d called up Cascabel a few days ago, explained that they were leaving Gift-3 soon and he would love to see him again, and also did he have any spare mechanical odds and ends lying around that he didn’t mind Even… having?

It was an awkward request. Even kind of hated making it. As much as he trusts him, he hated having to ask Cascabel for this help. He’d much prefer to be able to do this stuffon his own. But Cascabel knows the area better than him, can ensure that he’s not taking anything that’s going to be needed. (He remembers the bullets. He doesn’t regret it, not exactly, but he remembers, and in the year since then, he’s learned.) But as much as he hates it, he _needs_ this.

And Cascabel is reliable. He’s… Well, he’s a friend, right?

He’s…

The door slides open.

He’s right there.

“Hey,” Cascabel says, and then, tone light, “You didn’t bring anyone with you this time?”

“Should I have?” Even says, just barely managing not to clip the edges of the doorframe with his wings as he steps inside.

Cascabel laughs, shuts the door behind him. “No,” he says. “This is good. Just the two of us.”

Right. Just the two of them.

Even nods.

Cascabel leads him out of the entryway, into the apartment, the more open area a seemingly-random mesh of living area and workspace. Even sets the takeout container he’s been carrying on the table.

“I brought food,” Even says, at Cascabel’s look, questioning that decision all over again. “For you. I figured, since, you know, you’re bringing stuff for me.

“Oh.” Cascabel approaches and folds open the top of the container. “Thanks.” He stares at it a moment, and then looks back at Even, his expression unreadable, and says, “So… How have things been?”

Even thinks back to the events of the last few days. To the whole mess with Advent, and then everything that happened with Polyphony. The latter had ended better, but it had also been unreal, like something out of a dream. “It’s been…” Even doesn’t know how to begin to explain. “You know. It’s been.”

Cascabel raises an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Even sighs. He lays a hand on the table, beside them, drums his fingers on it a moment. “How much have you heard about how the stuff with the Stitch worked out?”

“Only rumors,” Cascabel says. “And not ones that make much sense.”

“Yeah, well, the reality of it doesn’t make much sense either. It’s…” What was it? “We worked out this deal, with Advent, and the Volunteers?” That’s a fact. That’s easy enough to explain. But even keeps thinking about it, keeps worrying. He’s heard rumors, too. “It seemed like a good idea. Like it was a compromise that was going to help everyone. But now… I don’t know.”

Cascabel furrows his brow. “You cut a deal with Advent? I thought the whole point…”

“When you say it like that—“ Even stops himself. It’s not an inaccurate description. Still, “The whole point was that people got to use the Stitch. That the folks over at Seiche got to go home. And they did, so… I mean, that’s a win, right?” Even doesn’t believe the words even as he’s saying them. “It’s... I don’t know. Maybe it’ll all be fine still. Maybe we were justified in seeing the best in people.”

“Maybe,” Cascabel says. He doesn’t sound convinced either.

Even doesn’t respond, lets his gaze wander the room around him: the table, with the takeout container sitting next to some abandoned tech project; the open living space, a couch, some chairs. When he finally makes eye contact with Cascabel again he’s watching Even, his gaze steady.

“It’s really fine,” Even says. “Or it’s probably not, but like, what’s done is done. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“Okay,” Cascabel says. He rests his hand on top of Even’s, on the table . “But—you can talk about it if you want, you know? You can talk to me.”

Even blinks. The weight of Cascabel’s hand on his seems impossible. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks.”

Even looks at Cascabel. Neither of them say anything. Even looks at Cascabel, standing there, their hands touching, Cascabel looking back at him with _something_ —Even can’t decide what—written into his face.

“What about you?” Even says. “How are you doing?”

Cascabel shrugs. “Well,” he says, and he removes his hand as he speaks, gesturing. “I was a little worried when I started hearing about all that Advent stuff, but—“

“Shit,” Even says. “I didn’t even think about that. Is everything going to be okay around here for you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Cascabel says. “I just meant, apart from you showing up, things have been pretty normal lately. Nothing huge has happened.”

Even wants that to be true. “You’re doing alright?”

“Yeah,” Cascabel says. “I do alright.”

“That’s… good.” It’s a pointless, inane thing to say. But it’s something. Even glances at the table, at the takeout container still sitting open . “You should eat that before it gets cold,” he says, and then, wow, he sure did just say that.

Cascabel looks down at it. “Okay,” he says. He starts to reach for it, and then stops. “Oh, I can grab the… stuff for you, if you want?”

“Sure,” Even says. He’d forgotten about it, for a moment there, if he’s being honest. The entire reason for this visit, which was to get more tech into his body, and not just to stand here soaking in Cascabel’s presence.

Cascabel nods again, turns and walks into another room. And Even is alone for the moment.

Here he is. In Cascabel’s apartment. It’s strange, to be here with him, like this. They’d been in touch semi-regularly for the last year or so; seen each other on rare occasions. But Even was hardly ever in one place long enough for them to really make a thing of their interactions. It was always just in passing, and Even never really… thought about it. About what their relationship was.

Cascabel re-enters, a box of machine parts tucked under one arm. He hands it to Even, moves to pick up the food Even had brought.

Even reaches into the box and runs his hand along the edge of one of the pieces of scrap—some section of circuitboard, he thinks, intricate and mostly-intact. He doesn’t know where Cascabel got it, but, yes, this is exactly what he needs.

Even pushes back the edge of—not hunger, really. It’s _not_ hunger, because it’s not food, exactly; that’s an imperfect metaphor at best. Not hunger, but desire, maybe, or… He isn’t sure. The words aren’t what’s important.

They end up on the couch: Cascabel eating from the takeout container; Even, wings draped awkwardly over the back of the sofa, twisting pieces of metal into his hair. Cascabel pulls up a computer screen and puts on some TV show he’d been watching recently, but Even can’t really be bothered to pay attention to it.

It’s so casual and easy that it almost doesn’t feel real.

Cascabel finishes eating after not too long. He doesn’t say anything, just sets the container on the floor. When he sits back up, he shifts closer to where Even is sitting. Cascabel’s gaze is still directed at the screen, across from them, but Even can’t seem to focus on anything but his sudden proximity, the weight of him leaning into Even’s side. (And surely that can’t be comfortable? Surely Even is metallic and hard-edged and not at all the kind of person that you’d want lean against, that you want to get as close to as possible, the way Even realizes he wants to with Cascabel, wants to pull him close and have him stay there forever.)

Even’s hair closes around the last bit of tech Cascabel had found him (some half-built spring-loaded _something_ ) and then that’s done. And there is just Cascabel, warm beside him.

Even—a moment’s hesitation, and then Even reaches over and puts an arm around Cascabel’s shoulder, because he wants to, because it feels right. Cascabel makes eye contact with him and gives a half-smile.

They sit like that a while.

Even watches the show. Still can’t really seem to follow the plot; there’s some Quire thing going on that he doesn’t really have context for. At least, he’s going to go ahead and assume that’s why he can’t follow it. Maybe it’s just that he isn’t paying very close attention.

He’s paying enough attention, though, that he doesn’t notice, at first, that Cascabel is looking at him now, and not the screen, not until Cascabel reaches out and lightly twists a strand of Even’s hair around his finger. He hold it a moment, rubs his finger along the not-quite-organic texture. “How does this work?”

“What?” Even says, pulling his arm back.

“Your whole... thing, with your hair,” Cascabel says. “How does it work?”

“Um,” Even says. Cascabel is still idly messing with Even’s hair, still sitting very close to him, and it takes him a second to form his thoughts. “I don’t know, really.”

Cascabel stops momentarily, raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“No,” Even says. A full sentence. “It’s just a part of me, you know? I don’t know how, like, my human muscles and shit work either, not really. Because I’m not a doctor, and I’m also not a… xenobiologist, or whatever.”

Cascabel lowers his hand. “Okay,” he says. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Even says, watching Cascabel’s expression. “I don’t mind.” He isn’t sure whether he means the questions, or the feeling of Cascabel’s hand on his hair, his fingers slipping easily between the not-quite-braids. Probably both. “I just... I’ve never really bothered to think about it too hard.”

“You’re not curious?”

“I mean, not really.”

“Huh.” Cascabel’s gaze lingers on Even. His hand stays at his side now. “I just... It’s interesting, right? You’re like nothing else I’ve ever seen.”

Even laughs.

“I’m serious. As weird as everything’s gotten in the last couple of years, you’re something different.”

“Thank you, I think?” Even says. He expects Cascabel to say something in response, to laugh, maybe, but he doesn’t. “It’s weird to think of...” Even looks down at his fingers. “It’s weird to think of all of this still being strange to other people. Like—like, when I first heard about this opportunity, the stuff with the symbiont, with the mission to Quire—it maybe did a little. But now, I don’t know. There are all kinds of people in the system. I’m just me.”

“No,” Cascabel says, “I know.” His hand on Even’s shoulder.

The voices from the screen continue in the background, ignored. “Cascabel—“ Even says, and doesn’t know how he was going to end that sentence. He wants to say _something_. He wants to _do_ something. But for once he isn’t quite sure what.

He’s distracted by an abrupt change in background sound as the show ends—cuts to credits, and then goes silent. And then Even realizes that he is still sitting there, the scavenged tech and food long since finished with. Wasn’t that the reason he was here? Wasn’t that the point?

Neither of them say anything. Even hesitates another moment, not really meeting Cascabel’s eyes. “I guess I should be heading out,” he says.

He moves to stand, but he’s barely made it a step before Cascabel catches him on the arm.

He meets his eyes. “Even,” he says softly. “Stay.”

Even glances one more time towards the door, then backtowards Cascabel. There’s something in in his gaze that Even… That he…

“That is, you don’t have to, or anything,” Cascabel says, releasing his grip. “But you can if you want.”

Even wants to very badly, is the thing.

“Okay,” he says, and sits down.

He’s sitting even closer to him than before, now, bodies touching. Even looks at Cascabel. Cascabel looks back at him. He e leans forward, raises a hand towards Even’s face, runs his thumb along the hard edge of Even’s jaw. “I’m glad you came,” he says.

“Me too,” Even says, and he laughs, a full sound, rough-edged.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” Even says, and it’s as he says it that he is once again conscious of how close Cascabel is, his face a very closable distance from Even’s. And here, now, is a different kind of hunger yet again, this one warm, rough-edged, and Even’s gaze lingers on Cascabel’s face, on Cascabel’s lips, on Cascabel.

Even closes the distance. Kisses him, pulls him close, his fingers tangling in the softness of his hair.

Cascabel pulls back, after a bit, takes a breath, lets the moment hangs there.

Even doesn’t say anything. He’s content for the moment to just look at Cascabel, to take in the shape of him. He didn’t think this was what was going to happen when he arrived here tonight. Or maybe he did, on some level, maybe he hoped. Maybe sometimes during the mission he had let his mind wander to _this_ : to Cascabel, so close; to the sheer possibility of kissing him again, right now, if he wants to.


End file.
